


My Sanctuary, You're Holy to Me

by rosesmallow



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, First Dance, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Post-Canon, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 02:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20859092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesmallow/pseuds/rosesmallow
Summary: “It's just hard to believe that it's over. Five years fighting against the Dukedom and then the Empire, everything and everyone we lost...and now. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now, Mercedes. I mean — Margrave Gautier, yeah, but I've fought for so long, I'm not sure I know how to do anything else anymore.”Mercedes stayed quiet for a moment, carefully selecting her words before speaking, “There is more to you than just a warrior, Sylvain Jose Gautier, just as there was more to you than just a mere skirt-chaser.” Mercedes reached down, taking his hand and grasping it with both of hers, voice firm with conviction. "You mustn't lose yourself now, not when you finally have something precious in your grasp.”Sylvain takes a moment to ponder what's next for him — luckily, he isn't alone.





	My Sanctuary, You're Holy to Me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was sponsored by (see: she pulled me into this ship) and betaed by [evaceratops](evaceratops.tumblr.com). Title taken from “Church” by Fall Out Boy!

Sylvain never knew what true exhaustion felt like until the war. He recalled his theatrics five years ago after their mock battles, complaining loudly to whomever was nearest (usually Felix) about how tiring the whole affair was, and how he'd much prefer to spend his time flirting with the women at Garreg Mach — which had earned him a look from Ingrid that, if looks were capable of murder, would've sent him six feet under. 

But now, his back resting against the baluster of a stairwell close to the gardens, the stars twinkling above him and the moon full, Sylvain understood how naive he'd been. The war had lasted five long, bitter years, and he felt each in his very bones, weighing him down heavier than any armor ever could. 

This area was shrouded in shadow because no one had thought to bring any lanterns this way yet, their attention drawn to celebrations in the great hall. It reminded him of the ball they'd held at the beginning of the first school year — his memories of it were vague, and he didn't even have a murky impression of who he'd gone with. He just remembered the laughter, the golden lights, and the feeling of infinite potential that hung in the air.

That same energy lofted through the ruins of Garreg Mach tonight, but it was weighed with the losses they sustained over the years, despite the victory they were celebrating. Sylvain found himself wondering if Dimitri even attended the ceremony: he hadn't seen the King while he was inside, but it was possible Dimitri made his appearance after Sylvain excused himself away from the crowds, in need of fresh air. 

“Sylvain?”

He started at the sound of his own name, so lost in his own reverie that he missed Mercedes' soft footsteps approaching. He turned, finding her standing on the top of the staircase, and his breath caught in his chest, an emotion bubbling up from within that he was afraid to name.

Standing there, all bright and shining with the midnight sky as a backdrop, Mercedes reminded Sylvain of the moon: the light shining in the darkness, picking out the truth behind the shadows, guiding lost souls back to their designated paths. Radiant, beautiful, awe-inspiring.

“Are you alright?" Mercedes continued, descending the stairs, one hand on the bannister to guide her way down. She situated herself on the step above him, leaning forward to observe him. 

Sylvain started to duck his head, an instinctive reaction to guard the emotion he wasn't good at hiding in private, but hesitated. This was  _ Mercedes _ , the woman who had understood who he was underneath the armor of his own making, who saw  _ him _ and not his crest.

He found that he didn't want to hide from her. So, he didn't.

“It's just hard to believe that it's  _ over. _ Five years fighting against the Dukedom and then the Empire, everything and everyone we lost...and now. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now, Mercedes. I mean — Margrave Gautier,  _ yeah _ , but I've fought for so long, I'm not sure I know how to do anything else anymore.”

Mercedes stayed quiet for a moment, carefully selecting her words before speaking, “There is more to you than just a warrior, Sylvain Jose Gautier, just as there was more to you than just a mere skirt-chaser.” Mercedes reached down, taking his hand and grasping it with both of hers, voice firm with conviction. "You mustn't lose yourself now, not when you finally have something precious in your grasp.”

Sylvain's mouth went dry, eyes darting to her hands, then back up to her face, “What's that?”

“You have a  _ tomorrow,  _ Sylvain. You have a sunrise promised to you, and a sunset, without fear of not living long enough to see either. It may take you a hundred sunsets to determine your path, but you'll  _ have them. _ ” Mercedes removed one hand to brush a loose strand of hair behind his ear, her hand lingering on his cheek before she dropped it down to his shoulder.

Sylvain's heart stuttered in his chest, and before he could stop himself, he blurted, “I don't want them, though. I don't want a promised sunrise, I want to — I want —” he choked on his own words, his own thoughts and feelings a jumble in his mind. “I want to protect you, Mercedes.  _ Always.  _ That's —” he looked up at her, desperate for her to understand how sincere he was, that this wasn't a move, that she meant  _ everything  _ to him and _ more _ . “That's the only promise I want. To be by your side, keeping you safe. That matters more to me than a sunrise.”

He inhaled sharply, shakily. A part of him wanted to run, flee into the wild like Dimitri once had and never return, but something kept him anchored where he was — common sense, probably. 

Mercedes took a deep breath, eyes shining, but she didn't say anything. She just kept watching him, until she took her hand and brushed it through his hair. Sylvain's eyes slid shut, his body tensing at the foreign contact. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched so gently, if ever, like he was a precious, fragile thing that needed to be cared for. All he knew was that he wanted to drown himself in it — in her. 

“There it is again,” Mercedes whispered. Sylvain looked up to find her watching him with a look filled with sad reverence. “That sad smile.”

Sylvain tried for some of his trademark deflection, “Still make me look handsome?”

Mercedes chuckled, and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. “You've never looked more beautiful,” she whispered to him, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. 

He gawked at her as she stood up, and reached her hand out for him to take. 

“Will you do me the honor of the next dance?”

Sylvain stood up on legs that felt like they were made of jelly, but took her hand anyway, “I thought you'd never ask, Mercedes.” Tempting his luck, he pressed a kiss to her hand, giving a sweeping, respectful bow. Mercedes giggled, eyes scrunching with mirth, then led him up the stairs. 

Instead of going back inside, they swayed out in the courtyard, holding onto each other more than dancing, Sylvain burying his face in the crook of her neck as she rubbed gentle circles into his back. 

Just as the moon began its lazy descent in the sky, Sylvain whispered to Mercedes, “Thank you for believing in me.”

Her answer was as sure as the coming sunrise: “Always.”

  
  
  



End file.
